


A Young Rose Grows Thorns

by Sludgeman101



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Divorce, Exile, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sludgeman101/pseuds/Sludgeman101
Summary: Xibalba is gone, banished For his betrayal. La Muerte can barely manage to get out of bed. And in the midst of it at is their youngest daughter, La Rosa.





	

The usually happy atmosphere of the Land of the Rembered had soured. No one danced, no music was played, no laughter was heard, and new arrivals were left to solemnly find their families. Instead there was a deep, sorrowful silence, for every soul was in mourning for their queen.

Though one person remained oblivious to it all. Her youngest child, La Rosa. The spitting image of her mother in almost every way, though the rings that adorned her eyes and the spade-shaped marking for her nose were both emerald green, matching her irises, which surrounded two burning yellow pupils. Her bare feet padded softly against the floor as she approached the door to her parent's bedroom, awkwardly carrying a big storybook. Reaching for the fancy door knob, she was about to enter when her hand was gently pulled away by a tar-covered hand.

In front of her now stood La Plaga, La Muerte and Xibalba's oldest daughter. While La Rosa had taken mostly after her mother, La Plaga had been a surprise to many when she was born. When thinking of a female version of Xibalba, most people had assumed she would be woefully unattractive, which, while not only being extremely mean, but also was completely untrue. Though she did indeed have his tarry skin and red skulls for pupils, she had inherited her mother's black hair, and now an adult at age two-thousand, had her mother's beauty and curves.

"Sorry Rosey, mama is just.... really tired right now."  
"But, it's my bedtime, and she always reads me a story before I fall asleep."  
La Plaga tried her best to keep her voice calm and reassuring. "How about I read you a story instead?"  
The little goddess nodded her head. "Okay."  
......  
"And they all lived happily ever, the end." La Plaga said, attempting to mask the sick feeling in her gut with a veneer of happiness.  
La Rosa yawned. La Plaga pulled the pink comforter over her. "Now get some rest, you'll see mama tomorrow." She gave a small peck to her little sister's forehead before blowing out the candle on her nightstand.

She had almost made it to the door when the dreaded question came.  
"When will daddy be back?"  
Her throat went dry. Tears flooded her eyes. She wanted so much to just break down and cry, but she knew she couldn't, especially in front of La Rosa."Well," her voice broke before she could stop it, "papa is… I don't know when he'll be back."  
"Does he not like us?" The question came out as a whisper, filled with fear and confusion.  
"I-I," she held her hand to her face to obscure the tears running down her cheeks. In her heart, she already knew the answer, but she chose instead to lie, to spare her dreams for a few more years of a loving father. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she answered "of course he does, how could he ever not like you?" She stroked her hair a little, trying to convey the happiness she couldn't feel. "Now get some rest, with luck mama will be all better by tomorrow."  
"Okay, goodnight Plaga."  
"Goodnight, Rosa."

  
.......  


Down the hall, La Muerte laid curled in a ball on her bed, hat torn off and laying in a crumpled heap on the floor, having sobbed herself to exhaustion some hours before.  
Next to her hat, a small wooden picture frame, broken where it had hit the wall. Covered in broken glass, wax, and wood splinters, was a small painting of a slightly annoyed Xibalba holding a crying infant in his muscular, tar covered arms, who had the tip of his long black mustache in a death grip. 

A sugary hand lightly brushed the debris away, gently picking up the painting. Glancing back at the sleeping form of his mother, El Viento sighed sadly.  
Their eldest son, he looked excactly like his parents. His upper body was split into two halves, the left side that of a sugar skeleton, and his right was tarry. His yes tended to be a little off putting for most, his right was a yellow pupil with a yellow iris, and his right was a red grinning skull. Combined with a very... enigmatic personality, he stood very much apart from the rest of his siblings.  
The small gleam of gold caught his eye in the low light. Spotting the golden ring among the debris, he picked up his mother's wedding ring.  
As much as wanted to remain stoic, he was a hair's width away from breaking down, leaving for the Land of the Living and never looking back, killing Xibalba, or all three. Quietly setting the ring on the nightstand, he snuck out of her room, the door just barely creaking.  
_"Why dad? Why?"_  
...… 

La Rosa would see her father again, but he wasn't the same, five centuries of exile in the Land of the Forgotten will have taken their toll by the time they reunite. Too bad the waterfall to the Land of the Forgotten was right next to another, very special waterfall. 

The one to the Land of the Cursed.


End file.
